I’m about to begin my senior year of college, and I’m quickly (much, much too quickly) nearing the GRE and grad school application season. I, like so many others, am stupidly lucky to be able to say that this is where I’m at, despite the anxieties that it entails.

It’s a tricky period that’s warranted some serious consideration and reflection. As a kid, my adult goals were so vague and wobbly. I didn’t really know what I would want to aim for post-college. Approaching the next phase, I’m still a bit unsure about the responsibility for picking my own path, and who should possess it.

I mean, I didn’t expect life at 21 to be so…humbling? “Messy” and “authentic” are also contenders for the overarching theme.

I’m baffled that a journey that is so empowering can simultaneously evoke the lowest and most careless behavior. And yet, maybe the more radical notion is that this is precisely what adulthood is.

A lesson that’s challenged me endlessly is that fear doesn’t deserve my energy or focus. Holding back from experiencing life as it is in all its messy glory is a waste; I’ve taken too much shit and stepped down far too often, and it’s frustrating to give away the space I deserve to take up.

I never imagined that I’d actually be capable of so much that I’ve done, and done well. I’ve always admired strong women but never felt that I was living a life that emulated theirs; now, with the many stumbles and tough lessons, I’m proud that I’m trying to live more fearlessly and honestly.

But, damn, life is so complex. This past weekend was a whirlwind; I felt stronger and more capable during my run (and let me tell you, my roommate and I killed that uphill), something that I never imagined I’d ever feel. It was incredibly encouraging to change my perception of myself. I wasn’t a bad runner, a lazy bum that couldn’t jog to save my life or letting the (cliched yet so true) fear of failing hold me back. I did it because I knew that I was capable of it. That sense of empowerment is addicting.

That was Friday. Saturday didn’t have quite the same conclusion. It started out promising. I cleaned up my room, swept the kitchen floor (horribly overdue; mom, dad, you’re superheroes) and studied for the GRE.

Saturday evening began, and so did my mistakes. In an excited rush to celebrate the return of friends, I really amped up the party with Miller Lite and, best/worst of all, Fireball.

The evening was a great time, and a shit show. It was so incredible to see beautiful faces I’d missed over the summer and meet new ones. It was great until I couldn’t see well and lost my phone and threw up on my bed.

I’m not proud but I am grateful. It was incredibly stupid to drink as much as quickly as I did, sure. But it was so fun to see everyone in their own happy state. I was able to wake up at 7:30 a.m. and (still a little drunk) text my mom about how dumb/happy the night was. I got to work off a hangover by lounging on my couch with two of my best friends. I had fun photos on my camera roll (also three completely black photos, which is darkly ironic) to remind me of the evening.

Saturday night made Sunday a time for slowed-down contemplation and appreciation. I had to throw out my cool garbage can that I bought three years ago as a freshman. I don’t have a perfect photo of the night, but I have a few really hilarious ones and a bump on my head that leads me to believe it was a night worth experiencing.

Being a young adult is so overwhelming and awesome. I am capable of so much, like giving presentations in front of scholars or becoming a better runner. I’m also super capable of having a stupidly good time, which reminds me that I’m still authentic, messy and excited about life.

Disclaimer: I know that it’s not wise to drink to excess, and I’m sure as hell not encouraging it. The theory of living life with less restraint in ways that revive your spirit can be applied to just about anything, and shouldn’t be confined to the act of drinking.